Young Writers Society

paroxysm xix

I know or
I don’t know;
I can’t trust myself
either way.
If I could understand
my own inner
mechanics,
I could predict my
own future actions.
But I can’t.
At times I feel
the very world is
unknowable,
as my deepest
heart
will always
remain.

paroxysm xx

my limbs are trembling
with unspent excitement
that will lie dormant within me,
building,
until the end of August.

other things are building too,
things I'm unable to act on,
but they consume my mind
to the extent that I can't
think any other thoughts.

it's a blessing and a curse,
and I love it.

paroxysm xxi

in April,
all of my hollow places
fill with water--
and like hospital patients
who drown
in the fluid in their lungs,
I drown inside of myself
grâce à paper-thin skin
and self-doubt.

this April,
someone ignited a
lantern,
a fire small enough
not to consume me,
but it keeps the rising tide
at bay.
that tiny fire is hope,
and at least the waters look
beautiful and safe
as I struggle to
keep afloat.

paroxysm xxii

I love you dearly,
but I'm just one.
I'm not nearly
enough to change
the the hand
(or hands, as it were)
of fate.

All your abuses
must one day come
to an end;
but I'm not quite sure
just which of us
will do the ending
(and which will be ended).

O Earth,
your wounds are
my wounds,
and I sing the song of
your sorrow
with all the words
you cannot speak.

Trying out some French! If you know any, feel free to correct grammar.

paroxysm xxiii

Je connais bien que
tu ne parle pas très
souvent;
mais j'espère que,
quand je te parle,
tu écouteras
(et comprendras).

Nous marchons--
lentement, lentement--
ensemble.
Il y a du vent,
il fait froid,
il va pleuvoir,
et nos mains
ne touchent pas;
mais quand je regard
dans tes yeux,
je vois moi-même.



Translation:

I'm so sorry, but I got bitten by the French bug... I'm not sure if I like these, but I'm having a lot of fun with the experimentation! Definitely looks better in French than English.

paroxysm xxiv

C'est dommage,
que vous avez perdu
votre courage,
quand tout dépende
à vous.

Ce que je fais
est rien;
regardez bien
avant que je
disparaîtrai--
l'heure approche,
trop vite pour vous.

Donc je vous quitte,
à cause de vous,
et dis,
«Adieu, adieu,
À Dieu.»


Translation:

paroxysm xxv

my view of the world is
that of a child,
peeping out through the gaps
in dusty blinds.

I've seen good and bad,
but I can't make out the whole;
at least not yet.

in our modern ways of
television and air conditioning,
there's no need to leave
the safety of my own home.

my view of the world is
that of a child,
and to a child, one soul
can be your world.

paroxysm xxvi

In a place where it
always is sunny,
with roses like velvet and
raindrops like honey,

I plant the garden
of my dreams;
and everything is
more than it seems.

I give my love,
my hopes, my care,
and reap the souls that
I have sown there.

paroxysm xxvii

I tend to associate with certain
guilt-ridden characters
in musicals;
others usually find them
disagreeable, or,
at the very least,
in the wrong.
An antihero.

Perhaps it reflects on my own
state of soul; but is it
a reflection of my past
or of the future?
All we ever know
is that someone
always dies.
(And that it could be
anyone)

paroxysm xxviii

my brain is little
bits of broken glass;
they can't come together
to form coherent thought,
and all I ever think
is merely a reflection of
something else
someone once thought
before me.

sometimes the pieces
break down into a
very fine dust;
it slips into my bloodstream
and troubles my heart,
poking it and
holding it tighter than it
ought to be held.
it swims in my stomach,
forming little butterflies
that can't be caught.
it slides behind my
kneecaps, making me
weak, trembling,
and I fall.

my brain is little
bits of broken glass,
and all of my
insecurities and
idiosyncrasies
come from within.

paroxysm xxix

"sometimes we love the
non-native plants the best."
he tells me this as we
dig with trowels and
gather fistfuls of damp earth,
watching it trickle out
between our fingers.

the sun beats a rhythm
on my back,
something strong but soundless.
"even though they're
strangers?"
I ask this because
sometimes I wonder if
those plants ever wanted to
be here in the first place.
I ask this because
sometimes I feel like
a transplant, too.

he doesn't answer, but
presses a tulip bulb
into my dirty palm,
and I in turn
press it into the hole
I dug.

the whisper of wind
at the back of my neck
prickles against a
sheen of sweat and
brushes past my nose--
soft scent of pine and
dusky smoke of a
prairie fire--
and I think that
everything has to come from
somewhere.

paroxysm xxx

i reach inside myself for
another gun to pull, or
some further ammunition
for my arguments
(for my survival),
but all there is is
empty

the motivation,
the emotional punch,
they're gone as if someone
reached into the driver's seat
of my soul and
switched off the ignition--
just one flick of the wrist and
the whole car is dead.

the store sign's turned to
closed, with a
postscript of
tired, tired, tired--
a ghost of me sifting through
the dusty interior
begs to be let out,
but the management's
not home.

i let myself alone,
just for tonight.

The big 3-0! You’ve had an amazing NaPo this year <33

I'm completely illiterate in Roman Numerals, but I think this means you completed NaPo? Congratulations Querencia! I've gotta say I really like your style - the poem often starts out sort of ordinary, then you add a second image that's unexpected, or put a philosophical twist at the end, but it's all very direct and readable, and there are some seriously lovely phrases in many of these.

Like the closing couplet of the last poem - loved that, and also liked "my brain is little bits of broken glass" it's unexpected but the metaphor just works all the way through - I liked the mix of nature/water and sky/celestial imagery in poem xiv and poem xviii the short one about playing music/hand-holding is another one of my favorites.

Congratulations again!

Congrats for getting it done!